


Grounded

by anothersouladrift



Category: Broadchurch, Doctor Who
Genre: Crack, F/M, whoops where did this come from
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:46:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anothersouladrift/pseuds/anothersouladrift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alec Hardy doesn’t normally frequent pubs at three in the afternoon, but today isn't a normal day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grounded

“How long?”

“Months.” The physician stands, and places her hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

He has the sudden sensation of falling, as if the very ground has crumbled around him, and he is flailing for anything, anything to hold onto. His wife left him, he sacrificed his job, career, family, daughter, and now, now, he is going to die.

He doesn’t even hear the doctor telling him that they need to run more tests, or that he can’t leave yet. He bursts out of the building, and the only thing he can focus on is how badly he needs a drink.

Just another day in the life of Alec Hardy.

\----

The pub is mostly empty, which is normal, considering it’s only three in the afternoon. It doesn’t matter though, because he isn’t here for company. He sits down at the bar and orders a drink. He swallows it down in one go, and taps the glass for another. He feels someone’s gaze on him, and he turns, looking for the source. A blonde is sitting at the other end of the bar, mouth open, staring at him.

Fantastic, he’s been recognized.

Normally, he would duck out, find another bar, avoid the whole thing.

Normally, he wouldn’t even be in a pub at three o’clock on a Thursday.

Normally, he hadn’t been handed a death sentence not even an hour before.

He’ll be damned if he is the one who has to find a different hole to drown his sorrows.

So instead, Alec finds himself staring her down. “Can I help you?” He asks, his tone far more bitter than he intends.

A blush flushes across the girl’s face. She ducks her head, and then raises it again, saying, “Sorry, it’s just, you look exactly like this bloke I used to know.”

Oh. So not recognized then. He’s regretting his tone, but it’s too late now. She’s fiddling with the straw in her drink, obviously uncomfortable. She’s gorgeous, he realizes, and golden, and curvy. She’s wearing a pair of jeans and a jacket, but her beauty is obvious. Her eyes seem sad, though, which he should have guessed, beings how she’s in a pub at three on a Thursday as well.

What the hell.

He hops off his stool, and grabs his jacket and drink. He walks to the other end of the bar, and takes the seat next to her. He leans forward slightly, and her eyes have widened, and he can see that they are a strange mixture of amber and hazel, but subdued, somehow. He arches his brow and asks, “Do I look like a bloke you could get to know?”

A light suddenly dances into her eyes, her tongue pokes out of her mouth, curling around her teeth, trying to conceal her grin. “That was absolutely terrible.”

“Well, you know, thought I had better at least give it a go.” He says, finding he can’t quite resist smiling back. “I’m Alec.” He says, extending his hand.

“Rose.” Her hand is warm in his, he always has cold hands, and now he knows why, but he runs the thought off before it can manifest itself.

“I like your accent.” She says, and then bites her lip, almost like it slipped out on it’s own.

“I like yours too.” He responds, and takes a sip of his drink.

“So Rose, what’s got you drinking by yourself this afternoon?” He asks, because he might be a bit of a tosser, but at least he’s direct. The surprise on her face is obvious, but it quickly is replaced with something else. “I don’t know, Alec, what’s got you drinking by yourself?” She says, and her tone is playful, but her eyes are serious.

“Fair enough.” He responds, and turning to the bartender he says, “Two more.”

They end up talking about Twitter of all things, and when she says she just doesn’t get it, he can’t seem to stop himself from leaning over and kissing her. He pulls back, and her eyes are wide, and shocked, and he obviously read the situation wrong. He hasn’t dated, or even slept with anyone else since his wi.. ex-wife, and he is out of practice.

He pulls his wallet out of his trouser pocket and slaps a bill on the bar. He stands and grabs his jacket off the back of his chair, and heads out of the bar, moving as quickly as he can, running away from his problems for the second time that day. He starts when he feels a hand in his. He looks down, and finds that Rose has slipped her palm into his own, and is smiling up at him. “You wanna get out of here?”

He takes her back to his hotel room, and once they’re inside, he is suddenly filled with self doubt. Thankfully, Rose takes the lead, loosening his tie, unbuttoning his shirt, and he finds himself flat on his back on the bed, shirtless, with Rose straddling him. She has pulled her shirt off too. She runs her hand up his stomach, stopping on his chest, resting it there.

“Just one heart.” She whispers, and he should find that odd, like she was expecting more than one, but he doesn’t, and instead he finds himself saying, “And a bad one, at that.”

She raises her eyebrows, but she doesn’t say anything. She just moves her hand from his chest, and cups the side of his face. She holds it there, gently swiping her thumb across his stubble, and then slowly, ever so slowly, she is lowering her face to meet his, and her tongue is in his mouth, and she tastes like scotch, and her lips are soft and full against his. As she kisses him, she grinds against him, causing him to gasp. He moves his hands to her hips, and flips them quickly.

The surprise is evident in her eyes, but she just smiles at him as he quickly removes both of their trousers, and strips off their pants.  He’s already hard, it’s been a while, so he rolls the condom on while he’s still coherent. She pulls him back down on the bed, and kisses him again. Her hands come up to rest on his shoulders, and his hands play against her body, brushing, rubbing, circling. He runs his fingers between her legs, and she’s hot and wet, and she lets out a soft keening noise. And then he’s pushing into her, and for the first time in months, he feels grounded. Her hands on his shoulders, her legs wrapped around his waist, him buried in her, and her eyes meeting his, and for the first time in as long as he can remember, he feels steady. He’s certain, definite. He hangs on to the feeling for as long as he can, but Rose begins to move her hips against him, and he begins to move inside her.

It doesn’t take long, and they are both coming, gasping, with sticky sheets, and sweat slicked skin.

He tosses the condom, and then flops back down in the bed. Rose is already beginning to drift off, and he doesn’t mind if she stays, so he scoots closer to her.  She curls up next to him, all warm, and soft, and he wraps an arm around her waist, before closing his eyes, and letting sleep take him. 


End file.
